


inhale/exhale

by yehetno



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, References to Depression, i have no basis for wanting to ship them, i just do., sort of angsty, this is not very good just an FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetno/pseuds/yehetno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wonwoo hides behind his sweaters.  The world is a scary place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inhale/exhale

**Author's Note:**

> someone is going to put me in time out for this. probably.
> 
> um, if depression or suicidal thoughts are a trigger for you, I'm going to have to ask you to not read it or tread very lightly.
> 
> there are typos probably.

Wonwoo wears sweaters that are a little too big for him.  He needs it that way.  The extra sleeve length brings the edge of his sweater to his mid-palm.  They hide things that Wonwoo would rather not discuss.  People stare.  It's uncomfortable.

His sweaters are like security blankets, bunched up in his fists, hiding anxieties and nervousness in curled up fingers.

He knows that he looks intimidating.  He knows.  He towers over most strangers, and his neutral face has an unfortunate intensity.  The mismatch between the harsh exterior and soft, pliable personality beneath is not lost on him.  People, strangers, they all claim that they don't judge books by the cover.  They are liars.  Wonwoo would know.  There are far too many scars that pucker the skin of his wrists for him to believe otherwise.  Kids are mean.  Teenagers are meaner.  Wonwoo would know.

Wonwoo still has a hard time interacting with people.  He has been burned plenty of times, feet held to the fire for the amusement of others.  Trust doesn't come easily; it hasn't, not for years.  His social skills are underdeveloped, and in the back of his mind, there is always the sneaking suspicion that this encounter will take a turn for the worse.

When fear dictates every other interaction that he has, connecting is difficult.  Eternally waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the sudden but inevitable betrayal, turns out to put an insurmountable amount of space between Wonwoo and the rest of the world.  How should he face a world that has tried to drown him, to force water into his lungs and make him beg for the burning in his lungs to stop?

If a moment overwhelms him, the thought,  _that_ thought, resurfaces, breaks out of its prison in the back of Wonwoo's mind and whispers in his ear.  A brief moment of toxicity sets him back, but not quite far enough that he can't actively fight it.

Wonwoo is a semi-colon.  He will continue.  That's what his therapist tells him.  With the right balance of medication and positive influence, Wonwoo can be normal.  Any future scars will be birthed by bumps and bruises.  That's the future that Wonwoo wants.

Wonwoo meets Jihoon.

Jihoon is angry, but Wonwoo can't quite nail down the reason behind it.   Jihoon smokes and uses his hands to gesture while he speaks about something which he is truly passionate.  When Wonwoo asks, Jihoon says he started smoking because of stress; he wants to quit.

Jihoon stands nearly 20 centimeters shorter than Wonwoo.  He says that he used to be a prodigy, probably still is or something.  He doesn't do anything with it; the funny thing about being gifted is that inspiration runs out.  Technically, he is under contract at some big firm and they waste his talent on derivative, mass-appeal projects.  It pays the bills, but Jihoon works at the convenience store because it distracts him from how he has become a commercial sell-out.

It takes nearly three weeks for Wonwoo to figure out that Jihoon is a musical genius of some sort.  Jihoon never explicitly mentions it; he assumes that Wonwoo would automatically know.

They mostly talk when Jihoon is on break; he is a convenience store clerk and takes up the graveyard shift.  Jihoon lights up a cigarette and vents about everything from an annoying customer to the way that foreign policy is being mishandled by key-leaders of the government.

Wonwoo thinks that he's too smart to work a minimum wage job.

Jihoon never asks why Wonwoo hangs around.  Wonwoo doesn't tell him that his anti-depressants give him bouts of insomnia.  

It takes three months for Jihoon to inquire something about Wonwoo's life.  He stops mid-sentence and tilts his head to the side.  He looks at Wonwoo and asks, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Huh, me too."

Jihoon asks for tiny pieces of information after that, favorite color, song, animal, those types of things.  Jihoon seamlessly integrates his questions into the flow of his rants, a quick aside, and before Wonwoo realizes it, Jihoon knows him.

Wonwoo has his first kiss two weeks before his twenty-fifth birthday.

Jihoon makes some remark about the sheer ridiculousness of him wearing a sweater in such warm weather, and Wonwoo murmurs something about it making him feel safe.  Wonwoo doesn't remember the words; there are more important things about that night to remember, anyhow.

Jihoon abruptly presses his lips against Wonwoo's.  Wonwoo lets him lead, giving Jihoon the opportunity to take advantage of his compliance.  He copies the movements that Jihoon makes in a more subdued manner, wondering what it means and how far it can go before he can no longer pretend to have experience.  Jihoon works his mouth open, and his tongue crosses the threshold of Wonwoo's mouth for a fleeting moment.  He pulls away as suddenly as he swooped in.

Wonwoo can still taste the smoke on his tongue.  Grimy ash mixed with an almost clean taste that gets muddled by the pollutants of the cigarette.

Jihoon has chapped lips and cold fingers.

They kiss again, several times after the first.  Each time, Jihoon reaches for Wonwoo, initiates it softly.  Wonwoo is an awkward teenager again, fumbling for words, struggling to articulate his feelings, looking at his feet to avoid emotional confrontation.  Each time, their kisses last a tad longer.  Jihoon starts slow and gentle, letting the intensity build until Wonwoo can't breathe anymore.  Each time, Jihoon tastes a little less like tobacco, at first cleaner, then mintier. Jihoon tries to taste better, at least that Wonwoo likes to believe.

There comes a point when Jihoon begins his break and immediately locks lips with Wonwoo, greets him with a kiss. 

It's a soft, gentle, kind moment with Jihoon's fingers touching the short hair on the back of his neck, his hand gripping Wonwoo's sweater right over his heart.  It is brief, like an incomplete thought, and Jihoon pulls away with his eyes still shut and a look of clarity smoothing over his features.

"I think I might be in love with you."

Wonwoo can't breathe.  It's in a good way this time.

Jihoon asks him properly.  A date, time, place, suggestion of activities, all the things that a date is supposed to be.  Wonwoo accepts.

Wonwoo might be in love with Jihoon.  In a way that is almost unhealthy.

He always wants to know what Jihoon is thinking about, what he is doing.  He needs Jihoon to reassure him about the smallest things, to make him feel valuable.  He clings to him; he suffocates Jihoon.  The thought of being without Jihoon terrifies him, of being in a world where Jihoon doesn't think his smile is cute in a dorky way.

Wonwoo tells him.  That it's love but not the right kind of love.  It's the love that tries to intimidate the other person into reciprocation.  He says that he doesn't want to love in that way, but he doesn't know how yet.  Then he confesses the worst secret that he has ever had.  One that he has maintained for the entire time that he has known Jihoon.

He pushes up the sleeves of sweater and waits.  Waits for the other shoe to drop, for Jihoon to tell him that he should've cut deeper or found a more efficient means.

He doesn't.

Jihoon doesn't break his heart or wish him dead.

He takes Wonwoo's left wrist and trails his fingers over the raised skin with a tender look in his eyes.  It's akin to sadness but not quite there.  He presses the softest of soft kisses on his scars.

"Then we'll get there," Jihoon promises.

And they do.

Jihoon does little things, small compliments here and there, makes sure that Wonwoo eats.  They hold hands and walk down the street while talking about nothing and everything.

There comes a day when Wonwoo wears a t-shirt without thinking.

Wonwoo likes t-shirts. They fare well in warm weather, and it takes only a jacket to make an outfit fall appropriate.  T-shirts can be trendy, dorky, or from a concert.  He can feel it when Jihoon draws little patterns on his arm with the tips of his fingers.  T-shirts are good.  Jihoon is better; if people stare, Wonwoo doesn't notice or Jihoon glares them down.  Jihoon protects him.

Jihoon quits smoking.  He makes some offhand comment about not wanting to die before Wonwoo.  If he dies first, Wonwoo would be lonely and he can't have that.

Sometimes Wonwoo pretends to be asleep, just to have Jihoon tell him secrets. Jihoon tells him that he's beautiful, and he's Jihoon's muse.  He would write a million songs if Wonwoo asked.  He just wants Wonwoo to be happy.  That's what love is.

Jihoon presses secret kisses on his cheek and quietly tells Wonwoo that he doesn't know what will happen, but he knows he wants to be next to Wonwoo.

**Author's Note:**

> comment??? kudos???  
> (if you found the firefly reference in there, we might be soulmates.)  
> DON'T SMOKE. DON'T KILL YOURSELF. 
> 
>  
> 
> (one day, i promise that i will write an actual fic centered on wonhoon.)


End file.
